


girl with one eye (this is the price she paid)

by pawn_vs_player



Series: DefectTale [12]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Absent Parents, Bad Parenting, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Child Undyne, Denial, Echo Flowers, Exposition, Families of Choice, Fan-made Lore, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heat Stroke, Hotland (Undertale), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internal Conflict, POV Second Person, POV Undyne, Photographs, Pre-Canon, Pre-Undertale, Stream of Consciousness, Undyne you are a fish monster why are you in Hotland, Victim Blaming, Waterfall (Undertale), this is why you need alphys and papyrus, you can't make good decisions on your own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 16:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11085777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawn_vs_player/pseuds/pawn_vs_player
Summary: How several gardens of echo flowers, a series of war stories, three ghosts, two deaths, one king, and a war veteran created Undyne the Undying.((Title from a Florence + The Machine song of the same name.))





	1. these days i'm fine (no these days i tend to lie)

**Author's Note:**

> *Picks up immediately after chapter two of "this world is not meant for you", so if you want to understand the context, you have to read that first.  
> *The author hopes you enjoys your suplex of feels!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lonely child, an absent mother, three friendly ghosts, and a garden.
> 
> ((chapter title from "Amsterdam" by Imagine Dragons.))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translation notes: "ibu" means "mother", "bapa" means father... though that was probably obvious.  
> *(Both terms are [Google Translate] Malay, based off the fact that the author sees Undyne as an anthropomorphic beta fish, which are native to Malaysia.)
> 
> *...  
> *Well. The author was _intending_ to publish this on Friday.  
>  *But then the Archive said "FUCK YOU, have some glitches instead!"  
> *So. Here you go, darlings: admittedly late, the last update of Exam Week.  
> *The author hopes you enjoyed the daily publications!

Ibu is different when she returns for you, after dispatching the human. She is quieter. She moves you to a different area of Waterfall, next door to a snail farm run by ghosts. She leaves for long stretches of time and doesn't tell you when she'll return.

You talk to the ghosts to keep yourself entertained. The pink one calls themself Happsta and shows you human television, and sometimes the two of you re-enact a particularly good scene. Happsta's cousin, white and transparent and always sad, makes music and looks like they've been punched whenever you compliment them. They say their name is Napstablook, but Happsta calls them Blooky.

They have other cousins, too, but you don't see them very often. One is orangey-red and likes to yell. The other you've only seen maybe twice; they're pale green and they have a big poof on top of their head, and they disappeared as soon as they saw you looking at them.

Ibu cooks for hours when she's home, packing it all away in the fridge and drinking tea as she waits for the latest pot to boil over. She says it's for later and asks you if you want to learn. You look out the open window, hear Blooky's music and Happsta's laughter. You tell her you want to go play with your friends instead.

She nods her head and says okay. She never says no to you anymore.

 

Happsta asks you where your parents are. You shrug. "I don't know."

Happsta frowns at you. Blooky asks if you want to race the snails again. You bounce on your toes and say yes.

 

Ibu isn't home for your birthday. You head over to the snail farm and ask if there's anything you can do to help.

You're cleaning out the snail pens- the slime gets _everywhere,_ but you don't mind so much- and suddenly the music drifting from Blooky's windows changes. You look up, arms gross and slick, to find Happsta and Blooky and the other two cousins floating by the door to Blooky's house.

"Wash your hands and come inside, darling!" Happsta calls. "We've a gift for you!"

You do as you're told, cleaning up and pushing your hair behind your fins. You should look nice if it's a special occasion. Your yellow overalls and striped white and blue shirt aren't so nice-looking, you suppose- or, well, fancy-looking- but they'll do. The ghost family are your friends. They won't care if you don't look your best.

There is a cake on the table and the song blaring through the farm is _Oh Genesis._ You break into a massive, toothy grin. Happsta floats over to throw small, ghostly limbs around your waist. "Do you like it, Undyne?" they ask, blinking big pink eyes at you. "We worked so hard! Maddie had to go corporeal for a while!"

The orange-red ghost, Maddie, grumbles a little and looks off to the side. "Hush, Happsta!"

"Thank you," you tell them. "Thanks so much!"

Maddie's face flushes darker red. They float away through the wall.

You smile down brightly at Happsta. "This is the best birthday I've ever had," you tell them, because even when you were really little and Ibu went full-out with decorations and the cake, there were never any friends of yours to share it with you.

Happsta can't hug you, but they float very close like they want to. "I'm glad, darling."

When you go home, you find a note from your ibu. _Happy birthday, love._ She's left a pressed golden flower inside and there's a slice of cake in the fridge.

You leave it for now. If Ibu comes home, she can eat it.

 

 

You're older now, old enough that you can go exploring without anyone to supervise. (Not that your Ibu would nowadays anyway, and not that you'd ask Happsta to come with you because you want a friend to join you on your adventures. That's silly and childish and you're better than that.) You run all over Waterfall, your feet bare against the soft blue grass and your smile illuminated by the echo flowers. You make sure to be quiet so you can listen to everything the flowers have caught in their petals. There are wishes, conversations, laughs, and once there's the sound of someone crying. You are nearly to Hotland when your ear is caught by a familiar-sounding sigh.

The echo flower droops like the words it's been entrusted with are heavy. _I wish I was a human. I wish I was a human. I wish I was a human._

You stare at the flower in shock. How- how could- how could any monster dare to say that? Let alone where anyone might hear? Stars, that's insane! You understand wishing for the surface, but that's not the same as wishing to be the- the enemy! Your ibu _killed_ a human: they're bad and no monster should want to be one. Where's their pride? Where's their loyalty to their kind?

You stomp over to the flower. "I wish I could win the Surface back for us," you say, loud and sharp and all your words carefully enunciated. The flower repeats it obediently again and again.

You nod to yourself and turn. Puddles splash up against your legs and dampen the hems of your shorts as you run.

 

 

You're thirteen now. According to all of Ibu's books, you've reached "the age of maturity" or whatever.

Nothing's changed, really, except for your birthday. Ibu left a whole cake in the fridge. She left a note that you could share it with your friends if you liked.

The ghosts can't eat monster food. Instead, you leave cake near mouseholes and give crumbs to the little yellow bird who always tries so hard to carry everyone across. You figure they deserve a reward of some kind. Besides, there's no way you could eat a whole cake by yourself.

You start leaving notes for Ibu. They pile up on the counters and tables. Every few weeks, when you come back from the snail farm, the pile is gone and a slip or two of paper are left behind.

It's weird, you're pretty sure. The other kids don't talk to their parents like this. Their parents don't disappear like your ibu does.

It's weird, but not for you. Not anymore.

(You're starting to forget what your ibu looked like.)

You plant echo flowers in your backyard. You are very carefully silent as you work on them; if you ever give them a message, it needs to be special.

Your ibu leaves a bag of fertilizer on the table once, and a note that tells you a vendor in the caves east of your house sells seeds and gardening materials.

You tuck the note away carefully, not wanting to lose the information. Your ibu's signature loops elegantly across the bottom of the page, the little fins sprouting from the "A" of her name making a smile twitch onto your face. You aren't a kid anymore, but that still makes warm little bubbles of amusement pop in your belly.

 

 

 

 

 

(And then the world falls apart.)

 

 

 

 

 

She doesn't leave a note this time.

Somehow, that's what upsets you the most. All those little inconsequential letters, but she couldn't spare the time to tell you - tell you -

Tell you  _anything?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are almost no traces of her in the house. It's been yours, only yours, for years now.

But her room is still upstairs, door still closed. The one room you never entered. Just standing in front of the doorway made shivers crawl down your spine, like you were about to step in someone's dust pile. Like it was the room of a ghost, the human kind, the kind that broke things and screamed at you to leave them alone.

Wasn't much of an exaggeration. Not like you ever _saw_ her after the human died.

She wasn't much of a ibu. You know that.

But she was _your ibu_. You loved her even when she didn't give you a single reason to, when she'd been gone for months and the fridge was empty and you had to _beg_ for handouts from the neighbors.

She was your ibu, even if she hadn't really been one for years.

And now-

Now she's nothing at all but a handful of off-white grains in a jar.

You still feel cold, standing in front of her door. You still feel like an intruder.

Now it really is the room of a ghost, you think. Your chest twinges.

You don't cry.

You push the door open with your free hand, the other cradling the jar to your chest.

The window is closed. The bed is covered in dust - the normal kind. The tall wooden shelf is stuffed with books that haven't been touched since you were a child.

You step across the entryway. Something rustles under your foot and you look down.

The floor is covered in dead flowers. Brittle gold petals are strewn everywhere. There's a half-empty jar of seeds on the floor beside the window. Withered stems and rotted buds wobble a little at the jolt of your foot against the floorboards.

There's a stack of paper on the bed, the only thing not covered in a layer of dust. Two pens lay discarded next to the pile, one blue and the other red.

Your fingers clench tight around the jar of dust. You don't cry.

The only other sign that someone lived here, other than the paper and pens, is the picture frame on one of the shelves. It's so caked in dust that the image is impossible to see, but you know what it is - what it has to be.

Your hand trembles. The dust in the jar shakes.

You close your eyes tightly and try to remember the sound of her voice, the feel of her scaled fingers in your hair, the shape of her smile.

All you get is a blur of green and yellow, a faint scratch and warmth against your scalp, and a low buzz of noise.

You make a small, choked noise in the back of your throat. Your eyes open.

You put the jar down without conscious thought. You scoop up the container of seeds, screwing the lid on and backpedaling out of the room. You nearly trip over the doorjamb on your way out but you catch yourself against the wall, claws digging into the wood.

You put the two jars down gently on the floor beside your own bedroom door. You take a moment to just - just breathe, just stand still and _breathe_.

She's gone but you aren't, and you have to _breathe._

Your claws drag against your ribs as you cling at the material of your shirt, desperate for something solid. Your lungs shudder, your throat spasming.

You don't cry.

You collect the stack of paper, blowing the dust off and blinking harshly. The pens you throw carelessly into your room, listening to them clack against the floor. Most of the books you don't see much use for; maybe you can get some food money for them somewhere. Snowdin has a library, right?

Finally, you pick the photo off the shelf. The dust clings stubbornly to the glass, so you bring it downstairs and scrub it clean in the kitchen sink.

You were right. It's exactly what you were expecting.

Two figures, scaled and smiling. Your ibu, younger than the one you vaguely remember, without the slump to her shoulders and the sag of her mouth. Her scales are brilliant emerald even in the mediocre quality of the picture. Her yellow eyes beam out at you, crinkled up like paper. The blue shirt she's wearing is in your closet, a gift of sorts when you'd turned fourteen and grown into her old clothes.

The other face is one you've only seen in your ibu's pictures. Messy red hair curling into orange eyes and over finned ears, uneven fangs hanging from a sincere smile, scales shimmering blue and purple near the gills. Broad shoulders stretch out the shimmery purple material of his shirt, and a braided leather necklace peeks out from his untucked collar.

His hands are spread carefully over the slight bump of your ibu's stomach. A scrap of bright red fabric is visible from under his long sleeve, just like in every other photo your ibu kept of him.

You take the photo back up to your room, put it down on your bedside table. His eyes seem to follow you as you walk to the door. 

You pause, just for a moment, to look at him. He looks so much like you, Ibu had always said. You'd forgotten how true that was; it's been so long since you've looked at the photos.

"I hope she found you again, Bapa," you say to the silent, still picture. "I hope you can make her happy again."

 

You find the scarf crumpled up under your ibu's bed. All your bapa's clothes are missing, other than that one piece, the cloth he always wore tied around his arm in every single picture there is of him. Ibu told you once that it was a gift from his mother when he got married. 

You brush your finger gently across the thick, soft fabric.

It's yours now, by all rights. The last remnant of your Bapa, the only thing your Ibu kept. 

You have no idea what happened to everything else he owned. You know he didn't die on the Surface, but that's all Ibu ever told you about his death, and that was years ago. Before the human fell.

It should be yours. There's no one else to take it.

You release a long, slow breath.

Your ibu loved your bapa more than anything in the world. Looking back, you know the only reason she didn't Fall Down right after his dusting was because of you, because she felt a responsibility for you, the soul he had helped create.

Looking back, sometimes you wonder if she loved you at all; if all she ever saw when she looked at you was a disappointing imitation of your bapa.

Your ibu is dead. It's her right for her dust to be spread on what she loved, and this is all that's left of her greatest love.

Your fists clench around the scarf.

She's  _dead._ She doesn't, can't, care about anything anymore. She's never going to know what you do with her dust, with your bapa's scarf.

It's yours, not hers. Nothing is hers anymore, because she is  _dead_ and  _gone_ and  _dust._

You wrap the scarf around your neck and square your shoulders.

You have work to do. 


	2. these walls (they're crashing down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stubborn teenager, a resigned veteran, and some long-dead humans.  
> And echo flowers. Can't get rid of the echo flowers. 
> 
> ((chapter title, once again, from "Amsterdam" by Imagine Dragons.))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The author hopes you enjoy this chapter of Undyne's life!  
> *(The author also hopes you forgive them for how many times they had to write the phrase "sip of tea".)

Your ibu didn't kill herself.

She Fell Down. She didn't kill herself. Happsta's mistaken.

And when someone Falls Down, there's always a reason.

Your ibu may not have been a good one, but some bonds are not severed by neglect.

You are a good daughter. You're going to avenge your ibu the way no one could avenge your bapa.

And the best place to start is with one of the few monsters who survived the War. Luckily for you, the nearest is only a few caves over.

 

Everyone knows Gerson, at least in passing. The monster in the Snowdin library calls him the Warhammer, but Happsta calls him the Old Fart (with scandalized looks from Blooky) and the Woshua down the path calls him Mr Shopkeeper.

Whatever you choose to call him, you know him, just like everybody else. One of the only monsters still alive who fought in the war, the chuckling tortoise monster who set up shop in Waterfall who tells stories if you're patient enough to listen and invites people in for tea when he's in a good mood.

You've bought things from him in the past, and you sort of know him, enough to know that he prefers to leave the Surface behind him.

You feel bad, walking up to his cave, knowing that your motive for coming is to drag those memories to the surface.

You feel bad, but not bad enough to stop you.

"Mr Gerson!"

The old tortoise turns to you with his scraggly-toothed grin in full bloom. "Undyne! Honestly, girlie, how many times must I tell you to drop the 'Mr'?"

You shrug. "I have some questions for you, Mr Gerson, and I'm real sorry, but I need to ask them."

Gerson wasn't the king's lieutenant for nothing. He may look like a harmless grandfather, but you know he still has his warhammer in his house - and he can still wield it.

"You wanna ask about the Surface, don'cha, girlie?"

His smile is gone. 

"Mm-hm." You tug at the hem of your shirt. "I... I gotta know more about the humans, an' - you can tell me, can't you?"

"I can," Gerson replies. His eyebrows draw together. "Undyne... I heard about your mama. This doesn't have anythin' to do with that, does it? You can't blame that kid for your mama's death."

Your fists clench, but you aren't stupid. You can lie if you have to.

"No sir," you tell him. "I'm just curious is all."

He stares at you for a minute, like he's pulling your soul out of your chest and inspecting it for any sign of guilt. You stand tall and let him see what he wants to see. 

"Alright, girlie," Gerson sighs, and puts the 'closed' sign down on his shop counter. "If we're doin' this, we're doin' it over a cup of tea."

You follow him into his house, rubbing at the scarf around your neck. The feel of the soft fabric makes your jittery lungs steady out. You're doing the right thing, you're sure of it.

He gestures for you to sit in one of his overstuffed chairs. You do, watching him putter about his kitchen and make two steaming mugs of sea tea. He hands you the green mug, keeping the brown one with white spots for himself.

"What do you wanna hear, girlie?" he asks you, after taking a deep sip of his tea.

You sip from your own, weighing your words.

"The humans," you decide. "What are they like? Why did they fight us?"

"I'm pretty sure your history books tell you that," Gerson replies. 

You shake your head. "Not enough."

He sighs and takes another sip. "Humans... they ain't like us, girlie. But they aren't all different, either."

You curl your legs up on the seat and drink from your mug.

"They don't have different kinds like we do," he continues. "They don't have fishies like you and tortoises like me and goats like the king. They're all the same flesh. But they don't all look the same, either. Their skins are all different colors, didja know that?"

You shake your head. The human Ibu killed was dusky-skinned and wore their dark hair in a tail, but you'd never seen the first human that fell years ago.

"It's true. Their hair, too, and their eyes. You'll be able to tell if it's a human, sure, but you can't say for sure where that human's from."

You frown. "They move?" 

Gerson nods. "It ain't like down here, where everyone stays in their area. You wouldn't do so well in Hotland, wouldja girlie?"

You shake your head.

"But a human? They move from hot to cold to moderate all the time. They adjust easy. Guess that's why their bodies are all similar."

You digest that. So a human, if it wasn't killed, could easily get through the entire Underground? That's... that's scary.

"What else?"

Gerson stares down into his tea. "Not all of 'em wanted the war, girlie."

You blink at him. "Then why'd they fight?"

"The same reason the monsters who didn't want the war did," he tells you. "Their leader ordered it, and if they disobeyed, they'd be hurt."

You frown. "Asgore wouldn't hurt a monster who didn't want to fight!"

"No," Gerson agrees. "But Asgore wasn't the king when the war began."

You stare at him. "What?"

A ghost of a smile plucks at his mouth. "Aye, that's somethin' they won't tell ya. For good reason, too."

"But-" You struggle for words. "But he was the prince! His father died before the war started! How could he  _not_ be the king?"

Gerson's smile twists across his mouth, bitter and sad. "Asgore's father weren't the king either, girlie. Asgore only became the Heir when the King abdicated - they were friends, you see, and Asgore was the best bet for replacement. There are only a few of us who remember that now." He takes a gulp of tea. "Aye, and they'd be mad as Muffet to know I toldja that."

"But then who was the King? Who started the war?"

"Ah, those're two different questions, girlie. The humans started the war, but only because they were terrified of our King - and rightly so, at that. He was proud, terribly proud, and he was drunk on his power. He came to the throne fair - Asgore and I even helped him get there, because we trusted him - but it changed him. He wasn't our friend when he ordered us to kill the humans." Gerson releases a heavy sigh and pauses to sip from his mug. You stare at your own, trying to imagine a monster as twisted as the one Gerson is describing. "By the time we convinced him to abdicate, it was too late to stop the war, and Asgore didn't want to fight - so we surrendered, instead of watching more of our people die for a bad king's pride."

"But who  _was_ the King?!"

Gerson wags a gnarled finger. "That, I ain't tellin' ya, girlie. He values his privacy, he does."

"He's alive?!"

Gerson takes an infuriating sip of tea before he answers you. "Aye, he is. You mighta even met him, but you ain't gonna know it. He's a friend of mine, Undyne, and I ain't gonna go spilling his secrets just because I'm fond of ya." He gives you a solemn look.

You sigh. 

Gerson's eyes soften. "Don't take it personal, girlie."

"Alright." Clearly, you won't be getting anything more about this mysterious King out of Gerson. "So... the humans?"

"Aye. What else you wantin' to know about 'em, girlie?"

"I... the human books that fall down, they say magic isn't real. But the mages that sealed us-"

"Ah, yes. The mages."

He gets up from his chair, humming softly to himself as he refills his mug with tea. 

"It always does come back to the Barrier, don't it," he sighs, sitting back down. You furrow your eyebrows at him. You didn't ask about the Barrier, you asked about the mages! ...sure, they  _built_ the Barrier, but that's a different question!

"'m not askin' about the Barrier," you remind him. 

"I know," he assures you. "But any conversation I have about humans always leads back to the Barrier."

The two of you sit in silence for a couple minutes, Gerson calmly sipping his tea. You take a sip of your own - it's going cold, but it still tastes alright - and wait him out. He's not going to give you what you want if you just plunge in headfirst; he may seem open and forthcoming, but he has endless patience. You've seen him talk circles around other impatient children.

"Humans haven't lost their magic," he finally says. "But most of 'em have forgotten how to use it, or that it's even there."

"Why?"

"They found somethin' else," he tells you. "Haven't you noticed what replaced magic in their books?"

Science. Things man-made that have nothing to do with the soul.

Religion. Blind faith in old stories that, at least to you, don't have nearly enough proof behind them.

You nod.

"They're livin' without magic," Gerson confirms, "because they found ways to replace it. Magic never did come as easy to humans, y'know. They've got all that flesh in them, not like us. It's no wonder they turned to other things, things every one of 'em could do."

You frown, plucking at the end of the scarf. A world with no magic... you can't imagine it. The human books that fall down - those are  _books._ It's not the same, reading about machines and gods, as it might be to see these strange Surface creations. The only machine in the Underground is the Core, and that's powered mostly by magic. 

"Sounds strange, don't it."

You nod. "How can they live that way?"

Gerson shrugs, takes another gulp from his mug. "They don't remember anythin' else, girlie."

He shakes his head. "But we ain't talkin' about the modern humans. We were talkin' about the mages, the Barrier-makers."

"Uh-huh. What were they like?"

Gerson lets out a wheezy laugh. "Oh, that's a question. I met 'em a few times, as high up as I was. Most of those meetings were even peaceful." Another pause, another sip of tea. "Odd bunch, they were. It'd be like talking to Vulkins, Froggits, Majjicks, Pyropes, and Snowdrakes all at the same time."

You wince. That sounds... unpleasant. 

"But one on one? Not nearly so bad." He smiles a little, the bitterness lessened. It's strange, that he remembers the humans that trapped him underground more fondly than he remembers the once-king he calls his friend. "Of course, some of 'em were jackasses no matter how you talked to 'em."

You giggle, then try to hide your blush in your mug. You're too old for giggling!

"Kindness was, well, exactly how'd you expect." Gerson's smile widens. "And the shenanigans Integrity and Curiosity got into!- oh, every meeting was more fun with those scoundrels." 

"Curiosity?"

Gerson nods. "Aye. One of the less common traits, I suppose. He was Integrity's brother, if I remember right."

Two sibling mages. You wonder what that would have been like, fighting a war alongside your brother. If knowing your family was on the front lines with you might make the battles easier or harder. 

"And Perseverance, stars! Once you got her talkin', it'd take an explosion to make her stop."

Your chest feels weird. You don't want to hear about these people. Gerson shouldn't miss them. They trapped him and you and everyone else down here.

"What about the others? You said some of them were real ja- um, jerks."

His smile fades. "Aye, I did. I think it was them that made the war go on so long, I really do. Their queen woulda given in, Perseverance said, but the mages insisted..."

"Which mages?"

Gerson's hand clenches on the handle of his mug.

"Anger. Pride. No surprise there, but - Empathy too. And then..."

His mug shakes as he brings it to his mouth.

"We didn't stand a chance."

You've never seen him like this. He almost looks... afraid.

"What happened?" Your voice is pitched carefully low. You feel like if you speak too loudly, he might shatter.

For the first time in the conversation - for the first time in the years you've known him - Gerson looks his age. His shoulders are slumped under the weight of the centuries he's lived through.

"The mages split. Half of 'em wanted to end the war, half of 'em wanted to destroy us." The mug rattles against the table when he sets it down. "The only reason we didn't get wiped out was because one of the mages trying to spare us was the queen's daughter. Even through Empathy's influence, the queen loved her girl."

You frown. "Empathy's influence?" You haven't heard of Empathy before. Actually, all the ones he mentioned as being for the war you haven't heard of.

"Aye. Rare types, all of 'em. You know the six standard - Bravery, Justice, Kindness, Patience, Integrity, and Perseverance - but there were others, too. The rare kinds. Empathy... she was terrifyin'. That's how she was - pretended to be a nice kid, pretended she was like Kindness... and then she'd dust you while you were reaching out for a hug."

He doesn't look old anymore. Now he looks furious. The dark blaze in his eyes makes you glance at the hammer stowed away in the corner of the room.

"She could twist people's minds. Make them go along with her. I remember - she got a whole platoon of my people to kill one another because she told them to."

You think about the jar on your bedside table and imagine it spilled across the floor. You image hundreds of those jars on a muddy field. 

You shudder.

Gerson collects himself with more tea. "Anyways. The mages split. Bravery - the princess - convinced the queen not to kill us, but instead to lock us away. The key was Pride's idea- suppose he wanted to punish his former teammates."

"The key?"

"You know what the key is, girlie."

You blink. "You mean the souls?"

Gerson nods. "It's specific. Seven souls, the colors and traits of the mages who opposed our deaths. We have two: Bravery, the boy Asgore killed, and Patience, the little one your mama had to take care of."

Patience. Pale blue. 

You remember their soul lifting from their chest as Ibu told you to run. 

"Thank you." You down the last of your tea and set down your mug on the side table. "'m sorry I made you remember all this, Mr Gerson."

The old tortoise shakes his head. "It may not all be pleasant, girlie, but it does a body good to remember." He stands, cracking his neck from side to side. "Now, off with you! I need to open my shop back up."

 

You walk back home with your mind whirling.

The child that made your Ibu Fall Down - the mage of that color, they wanted to spare your kind.

But they  _aren't_ the same person. Gerson can't expect you to think that, can he? Of course not, he's a smart monster.

The Patience soul killed people. Your Ibu stopped them from killing more, and was so guilty about it that she- 

It's the human's fault. It must be.

It's been centuries since Gerson was on the Surface. Sure there were good humans then, but what if there aren't now? There's no way to tell. 

And the humans started the war. The monsters feared the humans' power too, but they didn't start the war. It's the humans' fault you're stuck down here, of course it is, it always has been! Why did you ever think that might be false? You didn't. Of course you didn't.

It's the humans' fault your bapa is dead. Fact. It doesn't matter why: your bapa was killed by a human. 

It's the child's fault your ibu is dead. Fact. She would never have Fallen Down if that child hadn't attacked the two of you and forced Ibu to kill them.

You clench your fists and kick at the glowing grass.

You got what you came for: more information about the enemy.

 

...

Now what?

 

You spend the next day at home, tending to your garden and trying not to think. Your head hurts for hours and it doesn't stop even when you eat a cinnamon bunny from the shop in Snowdin. You go to bed early: it takes another hour for the pain in your skull to subside enough for you to sleep.

By the time you wake up, you know what you're going to do.

But first, you need to prepare.

 

It's practically impossible to find a weapons shop in the Underground. Most monsters fight with manifestations of their magic, after all.

But if you're in the Royal Guard, you have to have a physical weapon as well. You don't actually know why, you just know that's how it is.

You hate to admit it, and you've never said it aloud, but- 

You-

Well-

You're absolutely  _terrible_ at magic.

You have a perfectly natural amount of HP, it's not like you don't have the magic to keep yourself alive, but - using your magic? Manifesting it?

You're utter crap. 

So you either need a good strong weapon, or you need a magic tutor. Both things can be found in Hotland, where the Royal Lab stands and where the Royal Guard is trained.

It's not a small thing that you're setting out to do. You know that. You're going to be gone for a long time - there's no quick transportation method from New New Home to Waterfall, sadly - and you're going to be doing a lot of hard work. 

Which means you have to leave your house behind.

And Happsta and Blooky and Maddie. 

And your garden.

And the last traces of your ibu.

The first couple aren't too difficult. Houses can be rebuilt and rebought. Ghosts can't die.

Your garden will wither without your care, but you can take seeds and make a new one, and when you come back, you can get your garden to rise again.

It's the last one that troubles you, keeps you tied to the spot for another week.

You can take your ibu's dust, and you can take the scarf, but trying to scoop up all the dried petals in her room? Shoving all her books into your luggage without your bags splitting? Trying to preserve the fading smell of her shirts without keeping them sealed up in her room?

Those are things you can't accomplish in New New Home.

 

It takes you two and a half weeks from your visit to Gerson to leave.

You lock the front door and replace the mat with a note that says  _gone indefinitely - will return_. It's all the promise you can give to anyone who might come looking; it's all the insurance you can take to keep the house your own.

You hoist your bag higher on your shoulder and take a deep breath. The packets of seeds in your pockets rattle as you take your first step. 

Faintly, growing softer the farther you head up the path, you can hear your own voice whispering  _goodbye_ from the mouths of dozens of flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Concept of Asgore's predecessor from "The Angel is Coming" series on AO3, found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/709530  
> *It's an incredible trip through an aborted Genocide Route and the psyches of the characters left behind, as well as a fascinating interpretation of the lore and pre-game events.  
> *The author fully recommends that you check it out! It's long, but it's _so_ worth it.
> 
> *The author would also like to apologize for the exposition/lore dump in this chapter. Once they started talking about Gerson's experiences in the war with the mages, they kinda couldn't stop.  
> *(To be fair, the mages are a big influence on Undyne's perception of humans.)  
> *If, for whatever reason, anyone wants to know more about the author's mages, feel free to comment and ask!
> 
> *The next chapter, Undyne's experience in Hotland and becoming a Royal Guard, _probably_ won't take another month to write. Probably.


	3. the sun won't shine on the both of us (i keep coming up short)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A determined fish out of water, a talkative scientist, and a lonely king. 
> 
> ((chapter title still from "Amsterdam".))
> 
> *No, I will not apologize for my double pun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The author screams incoherently in frustration.  
> *Apparently this story just refuses to fit into a few chapters, so here we are, AGAIN, with another chapter uploaded and more to follow.  
> *U G H .
> 
> *Next time will actually have something to do with canon, if you can believe it. (Hopefully it won't take another month to write.)

You don't like Hotland. Hotland doesn't really like you, either.

This is a problem. 

It was one you expected - you are a  _fish_ monster - but not one you'd adequately prepared for, as it turns out. It's  _so hot_ , all the time. You're always tired and dry. Your throat aches and your eyes feel heavy, but you keep moving. You'd bought a map upon entering Hotland, and you just need to get to the castle. It's cooler there, supposedly. Once you're in the castle, once you're safe and cooled down, you can rest.

The air wavers and shimmers with heat. You stumble. Your throat feels like you swallowed knives.

Your bag is strangely heavy on your shoulders. You could've sworn it was lighter when you set off. 

Your eyes sting. No matter how often you blink, they never stop feeling dry and sore.

Your head spins. All you know is your path - left foot-right foot, left-right; forward, always forward.

You blink. The air is shaking. Your chest feels like you've breathed in pure fire.

Pain explodes suddenly in your cheek. You blink. The stone walkway is warm against your scaled face. 

You blink, except that this time your eyes don't open back up.

 

 

You are surrounded by sound.

Not the rushing water and swaying flowers of Waterfall, nor the clacking footsteps and bubbling magma of Hotland - not familiar sound. No, this is...

A pencil scratching against paper, the rhythmic tick-tock-tick of a clock, and a whirring hum that never stops and fades into the background of it all. 

You don't know this place. 

You open your eyes slowly, cautiously. You don't want to believe badly of other monsters, but waking in a strange place doesn't really inspire optimism. 

The ceiling (you're in a building, okay, that's a start) is dotted with bright lights. The surface underneath you is firm but not hard - feels like a doctor's couch or something. You remember that particular feeling; Ibu took you to a doctor when you were very small, before the human fell, because she was worried about... something. You don't remember. Mostly you just remember the almost-uncomfortable doctor's couch and the tiled floor and the strange monster who spoke in a weird, raspy language that you didn't understand. The doctor Ibu took you to see.

You're in a doctor's office. That... oh. That makes sense. You collapsed, didn't you. So someone saw and took you to a doctor. 

Okay. This makes sense. 

You decide to sit up.

...Which turns out to be one more bad decision in a long line of bad decisions you’ve made today, like coming here in the first place.

You wobble, your head pounding and your vision wavering. The pencil scratching stops, almost immediately followed by hands gently lowering you back to the couch. You close your eyes against the abruptly-painful lights and say, "What happened?"

The voice that answers you is a scraping, rasping  _screech_. You flinch, which does  _not_ help your headache, and immediately try to cover your ears.

The hands drift from your back and their owner walks around in front of you. 

...Huh. Small world. Either that, or there are a serious lack of medical doctors in the Underground. 

"I remember you," you mutter. "But your voice didn't  _hurt_ when I was little."

The skeleton doctor shrugs. This time, when he speaks, it's in words you understand.  **Y o u n g m o n s t e r s a r e n o t f u l l y d e v e l o p e d . N e w t o n g u e s a r e e a s i e r t o w i t h s t a n d a n d c o m p r e h e n d .**

"Uh... okay," you say. "So... what happened?"

**Y o u p a s s e d o u t . O n e o f m y l a b a s s i s t a n t s s a w y o u f a l l , s o s h e b r o u g h t y o u t o m e .**

"Your... lab assistant? You're not a medical doctor?"

 ** O h , I a m . B u t I h o l d o t h e r d e g r e e s a n d i n t e r e s t s a s w e l l . **

"...cool. Um, d'you have any way for me to... not pass out again? Oh, or directions? I could really use directions."

The skeleton makes a sort of hissing, clicking sound. It takes you a moment to recognize it as laughing.  **Y o u a r e a f i s h m o n s t e r . I p r e s c r i b e t h a t y o u r e t u r n t o W a t e r f a l l .**

"Yeah, see, I can't though," you insist. "I gotta find a weapons place, or a trainer. I gotta be in the Royal Guard!"

The doctor, despite not having eyebrows or even much in the way of eyes, gives you a skeptical look.  **Y o u c o u l d n ' t h a v e a s k e d G e r s o n ? I k n o w h e l i v e s i n W a t e r f a l l .**

"But he's not the strongest," you say, feeling a little guilty for it. It's true, though! "I gotta learn from the  _strongest_ monster!"

The doctor laughs at you again. You're starting to feel a little angry. Who is he to laugh at you?

 **T h a t w o u l d d e p e n d o n y o u r d e f i n i t i o n o f s t r e n g t h , I b e l i e v e .** The doctor folds his arms.  **W h y a r e y o u i n H o t l a n d , m i s s U n d y n e ?**

You hesitate. You didn't tell Gerson - you couldn't tell Gerson. He'd disapprove. 

You don't know this doctor, not really. You don't know what he'll think of you.

You set your jaw. It doesn't  _matter_ what he thinks of you, so long as he doesn't stop you.

"I need to be strong enough to stop humans from killing any more monsters. I... I need to join the Royal Guard. The trainers, the weapons - they're all here. So here I am."

The doctor nods.  **I t h o u g h t s o . Y o u ' r e j u s t l i k e h i m .**

"What?"

The doctor shakes his head.  **G o t o t h e c a s t l e , U n d y n e . S p e a k w i t h t h e K i n g . H e w i l l h e l p y o u .** His mouth curves up a little, the cracks down his skull deepening with the movement.  **Y o u m a y e v e n h e l p h i m i n t u r n .**

"Really? I can - just walk up and ask him?"

The hiss-crackle laughter floats through the room again.  **H e i s a K i n g , b u t h e i s a s o f t i e , t o o . H e ' l l h e l p y o u , U n d y n e , I ' m c e r t a i n o f i t .**

You frown at him, no longer distracted by his answers. "How'd you know my name?"

 ** A d o c t o r n e v e r f o r g e t s h i s p a t i e n t s . **

He sets his hands on your shoulders. You bite down a gasp as they glow bright green, synchronous with his sunken left eye, and your headache vanishes. 

 **U s e t h e v e n t s ,** the doctor advises.  **I t ' s h o t , b u t i t ' s s t e a m . I t ' l l b e b e t t e r f o r y o u t h a n t h e n o r m a l p a t h w a y s .**

"Thank you." You sit up again, smiling. You feel better than you have in days. "Hey, what's your name anyway? You know mine."

The skeleton doctor gives you that small, cracked smile again.  **I a m D o c t o r G a s t e r , t h e R o y a l S c i e n t i s t .**

"...oh."

He doesn't laugh at you this time. He just waves you toward the door.  **G o o d l u c k w i t h y o u r t r a i n i n g , U n d y n e . I h o p e t o s e e y o u a r o u n d s o m e t i m e.**

You grab your bag from the floor and head for the exit. "Bye, doc!" You wave over your shoulder and step outside, looking for the vents he'd mentioned.

 

A warm, damp, exhilarating trip later, you're walking down the (thankfully much cooler) path to New Home.

Oh, stars.

You're really doing this. You are actually going to speak to the King. 

 _Calm down,_ you tell yourself.  _The Royal Scientist told you to do it. He wouldn't do you wrong... right?_

Nah. He's a doctor. He wouldn't screw you over right after healing you, even if he did laugh at you sometimes.

You just need to be brave. 

 

The whole place is empty. You feel deeply uncomfortable walking through the King's house, but there's no other way through. You don't open any doors, you just walk through the door and down the stairs. 

You do pause when the path opens up on a beautiful view of Hotland. You see the big building you left from, the Lab, towering in the distance. There's an elevator to your right, but you follow the directions that kind fire monster gave you and walk past it, entering into a massive golden hall.  _The Judgement Hall._

It's beautiful, but it feels... cold. You hurry through it. You aren't here to gawk at architecture, you're here to talk to the King. 

Another long hallway, and a split path.  _Go straight ahead,_ the fire monster had told you.  _That's the throne room, and his garden. If he wasn't in his house, you'll find him there._

You are curious about the other path, but you don't want to intrude upon the King's privacy. That's just an awful plan. If you're not supposed to go down the right path, then you won't. You don't want to draw the King's ire.

So straight ahead you go.

You blink against the sudden pour of light.  _Sunlight._ Oh stars, this is _real_   _sunlight!_ It's so... it's so _warm_. 

The garden sprawls out, a rustling expanse of golden petals and green stems. You're standing right at the threshold of the door, and you hesitate to go further - you don't want to crush any of these beautiful flowers.

But you can't see the King, and you  _need_ to speak with the King. 

"Your Majesty?" you call out, hoping. Maybe he's just further ahead and you won't need to step on the flowers. 

"Your Majesty? King Asgore? Are you there?"

Right as you're about to take the plunge and step forward, you hear a reply. "Just one moment!"

You sigh. Okay, you were right, he was further ahead. He's coming back.

What are you even going to  _say_ to him?! He's the  _King_! Oh stars, you aren't ready. Why did you think you could do this?!

Too late now. You can see him, blonde hair and gold crown and white fur, emerging from the space hidden beyond the throne. 

He's holding a watering can, and he's wearing a shirt with pink flowers on it. 

 _He's a softie,_ the doctor had said. Looking at him now... he doesn't look like a King. He looks like any other guy you'd see in Waterfall, just... fluffy. Really fluffy. No monster in Waterfall would have that much fur, they'd be soaking and weighed down constantly. He's a great big cottonball of a monster.

Maybe you can do this after all. 

"Hello, your majesty," you say. Okay, good. One sentence down.

"Oh, none of that," he says. "I am Asgore. What is your name?"

"I-I'm Undyne." Dammit! A squeak _and_ a stutter. Great job you're doing, Undyne.

You take a deep breath. _Just say it. Just say it and get it over with._

"I want to join the Royal Guard." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gaster's speech text is different because, to Undyne, he's speaking the common language of the Underground, _not_ Wingdings.  
>  *His bolded, strike-out speech he uses during his other, previous appearances in DefectTale are indicative of him speaking/using Wingdings/"hands". His bolded, _underlined_ speech here means he's using the common tongue.  
> 


End file.
